


Eyes Like a Snake

by Lady_Anonymia



Category: TBoA
Genre: Annette cries in this one friendo, F/M, Feelings Jams, Gloria knows what's best, Injury, Minor Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Natural Body Modification, Possession, for God's sake Hyannah what the FUCK is Hunter's last name, hoo boy, if you consider Malignants "natural", so sorry bout that, went a lil wild with the figurative language on this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 08:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13050066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Anonymia/pseuds/Lady_Anonymia
Summary: “Sir?” Annette asked again. She’s used to silence, but not this cold neglect. “Hunter?”Annette put a hand on his arm timidly, and he whirled around, almost throwing her off. She prepared to ask what was wrong, to accuse him of moodiness, but when her eyes locked onto his she stumbled back in shock.-Annette discovers the truth and tries to fight her weaknesses.





	Eyes Like a Snake

**Author's Note:**

> Man do I love writing about characters going through PHYSICAL and EMOTIONAL PAIN!  
> ;-;  
> It's okay, my G-Girls, the dream team, Gloria and Gladys, they're gonna make it alright with Annette. Everything's gonna be fine.

Dark storm clouds hung above the top of the Charnels, the naked branches scraping the belly of the heavy skies. Annette stuck her shovel into the dirt next to the grave she’d just dug and rolled her shoulders, trying to relax them. She was used to the work—she’d been doing it for at least a month now—but something was keeping her tense. There was a feathery crawling up her back, an intuitive sign that she was being watched. Of course, she knew it could just be the Spectres, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something malicious had its eyes trained on her, following her every move...

Impulsively, Annette spun and, to her horror, something—or rather, someone—darted out of sight. She’d only caught a few aspects of his appearance, but she had seen the bright golden eyes, boring into her head just as she’d feared. Besides that, there had been a flash of...something blue? It was definitely a man, judging by his height, but his appearance was...

The myth of the Ferryman—a mysterious figure who lived in the woods and guided lost travelers to safety or death—was Annette’s first thought, but she shook the tale out of her head. This was no time for children’s stories. She couldn’t risk leaving a person in the Charnels while the moon was out, strange-looking or not: too dangerous. Annette would pursue the man herself, but she had a feeling that neither Hunter nor Gladys would praise her for that sort of risky stunt.

She decided to make the quick trip through the fence and back to the Cathedral, just to see if Hunter was in. If he wasn’t (which was very likely), her path was unclear. She’d sworn not to run headlong into any danger by herself, but she felt horrible about leaving the man alone in the woods like that.

Rubbing her hands up her arms protectively, she ran in the opposite direction, her feet thumping along the hard dirt.

* * *

Annette often had trouble with the cathedral door. It was much heavier than it looked, and often she could only barely open it and slide through the space. Her impatience to get inside made the door (and her own weakness) much more infuriating than usual.

Hunter was sitting in one of the pews near the front of the large cathedral, with his head down. Praying, maybe, although Annette had seen Hunter doing less and less of that recently. She was glad that he was here so late tonight: she never saw him once night fell.

“Sir?” she called to him, quick-stepping down the long aisle. He didn’t respond, but his head came up slowly. “Sir, I think there’s someone in the Charnels. I didn’t know if I should go after them, or tell you, or...”

He stood silently, and walked smoothly towards the pulpit at the heart of the cathedral. The Virgin Mary hung over his head, weeping into her hands.

“Sir?” Annette asked again. She’s used to silence, but not this cold neglect. “Hunter?”

Annette put a hand on his arm timidly, and he whirled around, almost throwing her off. She prepared to ask what was wrong, to accuse him of moodiness, but when her eyes locked onto his she stumbled back in shock.

His eyes were completely filled in with a deep pink. Although he had no pupils, Annette knew that he— _it_ —was tracking her closely.

"Ah, you must be Annette.” Its voice was distorted, strange: an atrocious fusion of Hunter’s low growl and a woman’s disinterested drawl. “Hunter's told me sssso much about you."

Annette watched the movement of the thing fearfully, amber eyes wide and breathing irregular. Her feet began moving backwards of their own accord.

“Y-you...” she stammered, then swallowed. She could not look weak, not in front of this thing. “You're not Hunter.”

“So you're not a complete idiot. How wonderfully unexpected.”

“Who are you?” Annette asked trepidatiously, the sinking feeling in her chest growing stronger with each passing moment. “Where's Hunter!?”

“He'ssss right here, darling.” Hunter's arms spread open, as if presenting himself. The thing bared its teeth in an open-mouthed grin, revealing a split human tongue tracing needlepoint fangs. “Do you not recognize him?”

Annette pressed her hands over her mouth, trying not to tear up. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “What have you done to him?”

Hunter’s body pressed a finger to its lips, as if thinking. Annette noticed with a stab of horror that the backs of Hunter’s hands were covered in thick, patterned skin, almost like scales.

“It’s not what I’ve done to him,” it finally mused, after a moment, “but what _he’s_ done with _me_ that is truly ssssinful.”

Despite his height and general countenance, Annette hadn’t seen Hunter as intimidating since the first time they’d met, when she was very young. His eyes had always been a window into his caring soul. But now, possessed with some terrible demon, his eyes showed nothing but vacancy, an indescribable lack of feeling hiding just behind them. He was _terrifying_.

“Well?” it intoned, cocking the horribly familiar head at her. “Aren’t you going to run?”

Annette ran.

It was raining outside. Of course it was raining outside.

The nostalgia that the rain always brought with it was tarnished now. Warm golden memories of drinking cocoa while Gladys read her a book, of playing hide and seek with the downpour, of _Hunter_ —had been savagely torn through with the claws of reality.

Annette prayed that the water on her face wasn’t tears. She _hated_ crying: hated the way it tightened her throat, hated the drool and the mucus and the _weakness_. She was so tired of crying over things she couldn’t control.

Fluffy brown hair hanging wet and limp around her freckled face, Annette shot one last horrified glance over her shoulder at her poisoned sanctuary. It was a look she would regret taking.

Her foot caught on one of the stones, and she cried out and fell forward. As the ground rushed up to meet her, the world disappeared, plunged into an inky darkness, and there was nothing.

* * *

“Child, can you hear me?”

Annette’s eyelids fluttered, and a wave of dizziness crashed over her. She could feel cold hands on her cheeks, and a pounding in her head. Her clothes, though much drier than they had been before, still stuck to her skin in some places, and her hair was still weighed down with water. Annette wondered how long she had been unconscious, but that wasn’t the most pressing question on her addled mind.

“What happened?” she asked, trying to talk past the dryness in her throat. “Where am I?”

Annette looked up at the woman, whose hands were on her face, turning it from side to side. Her face was half illuminated by the fireplace beside them, and one of her brown eyes shone in the light. She looked concerned.

“You’re in my home. As for what happened, only you could know the answer.” Annette allowed her to tip her head to her shoulder and inspect something on her temple. “You have quite the bruise. I’d like to know what you remember, but if it hurts to recall, don’t concern yourself with it.”

Oh, it hurt to recall, just not for the reasons that the woman thought. Annette chuckled weakly.

“I'm fine, ma'am, I just...tripped.”

“You really shouldn't be outside at this time of night, dear. Cold, rainy, dark: it’s not a good combination,” she said, kneeling and gently taking off Annette’s right boot. She flexed Annette's foot, and the girl took a sharp intake of breath, trying not to whimper. “I thought as much,” the woman mused to herself, before speaking to Annette. “You've got a nasty sprain. I’m going to get you some ice for it.”

“I'll be fine,” Annette said, leaning to stand and wincing at the pain of putting weight on her swollen ankle. She couldn't stay here. If the thing that had possessed Hunter got a hold of this woman, she would never forgive herself.

“There’s no need to be so hardheaded, it’s no trouble at all,” the woman smiled, pushing her back into the seat gently but firmly and going into another room. “Can I make you some tea?”

“You don't have to, ma'am,” Annette called, but the woman ignored her.

With the domestic sounds of a fire being set on the oven and various dishes clinking around, Annette took a moment to process what had happened.

So much had occured in just those few moments with Hunter that Annette refused to process. His appearance alone was enough to keep her awake at night for weeks. The bifurcated tongue, running along the edges of those inhumanly sharp teeth; the pink eyes, devoid of feeling. And his voice! That horrible, almost _predatory_ drawl...Annette could think of no other alternative than the impossible: that the rumors of Hunter’s Malignancy hadn’t been rumors after all, that Hunter had made a hellish deal with an evil spirit and given up his soul.     

Annette had had no personal experience with Malignants until now—they were rare, extremely rare, even in a place filled with beings like the wandering Spectres—but she had plenty of experience with the rumors around people’s Malignancy.

_“Gladys never comes out to play, Annie,” her friend Elise said poutily, staring towards Annette’s Amma’s house. “She’s always in there by herself with a book, like a lunatic!”_

_“Leave her alone!” Annette said, crossing her arms. Only_ she _was allowed to tease Gladys. “She just likes reading.”_

_“I know why Gladys never comes out,” the boy that Elise had dragged along with her today said coyly. “It’s ‘cause she’s one of those bad spirits! One of the Mal—Malick—Malignants.”_

_“No, she's not!” Annette said indignantly, while Elise said, “Really?”_

_“Yeah! She has big, sharp teeth, and sharp claws, and she’s_ super _hairy.”_

_“Shut up, idiot! Gladys isn’t Malignant!”_

_“Hey, Annie,” the boy taunted her, “does she turns into a bear at night? I bet she’s the one who killed Ezek—”_

The boy was much skinnier and much weaker than her, so swiftly giving him a black eye had been no problem, but the damage had already been done. Rumor spread and mutated from child to child, and then from the children to their parents. Annette had lost a lot of friends that way; it was the loneliest she’d ever felt. Gladys and Hunter were the people who had gotten her through that time.

The clinking of china alerted Annette to the woman’s return. She was a little shorter than Annette had originally thought: perhaps an inch or two shorter than Annette herself. Her personality made her seem a lot taller in Annette’s mind.

“Here you are,” the woman said, handing Annette her cup and saucer. “You didn’t tell me how you took your tea, so I guessed.”

Gingerly, Annette blew on the tea and watched the steam curl away from her towards the ceiling, before taking a small sip.

"Ah!"

"What's wrong? Too hot?"

"Oh, no, it's just...” Annette chuckled disbelievingly to herself. “When I was a child, this is the tea that my mentor gave me when we first met. I'd never had it before then, and haven’t known anyone else to own it; I thought it was rare. I'm just surprised you have it, is all."

The woman's brow furrowed, then cleared. "Ah, you must be Annette. Hunter's told me so much about you."

Now it was Annette's turn to be confused. "I—are you close to Hunter? The Warden, I mean."

"I should hope so, seeing as I'm married to him," the woman laughed prettily. Annette stared incredulously for a moment, her mouth agape. She’d surmised that Hunter was married—the gold band on his left hand told her as much—but Hunter had never mentioned his wife to her and Annette had never wanted to pry. She would never have guessed that this was his wife. "My name is Gloria. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Goodness, will I ever stop owing your family favors?" Annette replied, somewhat huffily, and Gloria looked at her kindly.

"You don't owe me anything. Consider this a gift." She glanced at Annette’s exposed ankle, and grimaced. "I'm going to get a cloth to wrap your ankle: I think the swelling may be getting worse."

Gloria left the room again, and Annette barely had time to wonder why Hunter had never introduced her to his wife before she was back with a roll of bandages and a bulging cloth. She kneeled once more and took a hold of Annette’s leg.

"Talk to me. It'll take your mind off the pain," she said, holding the cloth to Annette’s ankle. It was numbingly cold; filled with ice, she guessed. Annette hissed.

"Talk? About what?"

"Well, I'd like to know how you got this sprain in the first place."

"I'd...rather not talk about that, if that’s alright." Annette quickly deflected the question. She suspected that Gloria had to know of Hunter’s Malignancy, but if she didn’t...

Well, it wasn’t Annette’s secret to tell, anyways.

"Tell me about your family, then." Gloria continued, unfazed, "How are they doing now?"

"Well, my grandmother is trying to move me into her house. She thinks there's not enough space for me and the baby in my sister’s home."

"Peggy Shaw is still kicking, hm?" Annette nodded, and Gloria chuckled, still rubbing the ice on Annette's foot. "Can't say I'm surprised, she always was young at heart. She was a friend of my mother's, so I saw her sometimes when I was your age." Throwing the ice cubes into the fire, she began wrapping the bandage around Annette's ankle. "I haven't seen your sister in a while: she seems to be out of the house quite rarely. You say she's expecting?"

Annette nodded again. "What does your sister think of you living with your grandmother?" Gloria asked, tightening the cloth. Annette winced.

"She wants me to stay with her. Amma’s closer to the edges of Ashwick, near the Charnels: Gladys doesn't think it's safe for me to be so close to the woods all the time. Says it'll 'make me do something rash.'"

Gloria chuckled. “You don’t believe her.”

“I’m not dumb! She treats me like I don’t have any self-control or common sense at all, like I’m still a child.”

“To her, you’ll always be a child, Annette,” Gloria responded sagely. “She’s your older sister; it’s in her nature to worry.”

“I...” Annette hesitated. “I know, it’s just—it’s like she doesn’t trust me.”

“She trusts you,” the woman said, tucking a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear before returning to her task, “but she doesn’t trust circumstance. And very well she shouldn’t: circumstance can’t be controlled. So, she’s doing the next best thing.”

“Controlling me,” Annette finished dejectedly. Gloria nodded.

“If I were you, I would sit down and talk to her. I know siblings can be unreasonable sometimes, but try to bear with her. After being with you for so much of her life, she might be scared of what would happen to you if you two are separated.”

Annette thought for a moment. She and her sister were so far apart in age that they hadn’t spent much time together when Annette was very little: Gladys saw her baby sister as a nuisance and Annette saw her older sister as a nag. But after their parents died and the rumors continued to swirl around their family name, they’d been each other’s best company. Annette had gone to Gladys with her scraped knees and broken toys, not Amma. They’d sworn to be there for each other, always: it was what sisters were supposed to do.

“I suppose you’re right,” Annette conceded.

“I often am,” Gloria grinned, pulling on the bandage and tying it. “It’s a fact that both you and my husband need to learn.”

Annette laughed at that, and Gloria stood and admired his handiwork.

“Try and stay off that foot for a few days, otherwise you’ll be bedridden for even longer.”

“A few days?” Annette whined. “How long will that be?”

“As many days as it takes for your ankle to heal, child. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to let Hunter know.”

Just the mention of his name made Annette’s blood run cold. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said gratefully, pushing herself up off the chair. Gloria took her arm and (supporting most of Annette’s weight) guided her to the door.

“Do you need me to walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be fine! I wouldn’t want to make more trouble for you after everything you’ve done for me, anyways.”

Gloria looked at Annette skeptically. “Don’t be stubborn just to be stubborn, Annette.”

“I’m fine. Thank you, Ms. Gloria,” Annette said, leaning on the door frame and trying to look confident and uninjured. “I’ll pay you back, somehow. I promise.”

* * *

Annette limped through the door of her sister’s home, closing it behind her as softly as she could manage. Gladys was in her chair next to the fireplace, as usual. She often sat there when Annette went out, especially if it was close to nighttime. She had drifted off, but even in her sleep she was wringing her hands anxiously.

Annette unlaced her boots, wincing as she pulled on her right foot, and set them by the door, before gently shaking her sister by the shoulders.

“Hm? Phineas, darling, I’ll come to bed in a moment, I just— ” Gladys’ darker brown eyes opened, and met with Annette’s bright golden ones. “Annie?”

“You should really get to bed, Gladys,” Annette said quietly. “All these late nights can’t be good for the baby.”

Gladys pulled herself up (with Annette’s help) and wrapped her in a hug much stronger than her small frame should’ve allowed for. “Annette Georgia Shaw, you are going to _kill_ me with all the worrying I’m doing.”

“I didn’t mean to be out for so long,” Annette managed through Gladys’ near-suffocation. “I...ran into a problem, while I was out there.”

Gladys drew back and her eyebrows furrowed. “Problem? What kind of problem?”

“Nothing serious,” Annette shook her head, visions of Hunter’s altered form creeping into her psyche. “I hurt my ankle, but I got some ice for it already.”

“From who?”

“A lady named Gloria,” Annette said, thinking it best to be as vague as possible. Knowing Gladys, she’d start searching for clues the more Annette gave her to fret over “She was really nice. She offered to walk me home, but I didn’t want to make any more trouble for her.”

“You and your stubbornness,” her sister tsked. “I don’t know what you have against people helping you.” She sighed, and put her hands on Annette’s shoulders. “I’m glad you’re safe, Annie.”

“Me too,” Annette said, and her voice broke. She could feel tears streaming down her cheeks even though she hadn’t felt them coming. “I’m just glad to be home.”

Gladys’ relieved expression immediately changed to one of concern. She folded Annette’s hands in her own. “Annie, why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me what’s wrong, Annie.  _Please_.”

Annette wanted to tell Gladys the truth of what she had seen, wanted to apologize for not believing her about Hunter’s true nature. At the same time, even something as monumental as this couldn’t make Annette forget everything that Hunter had done for her over the past eight years of her life. She couldn't find it in herself to say what had really happened; it felt like she was betraying Hunter, the _real_ Hunter, the one who had mentored her all these years.

"Hunter scared me," she answered, tone edging on a sob, and it wasn't untrue.

Gladys enveloped her in a tight hug, and Annette felt something in her chest crumple. Her eyes burned and her nose ran as she poured tears onto Gladys’ shoulder; her violent trembling was only restrained by the thin arms of her sister.

"Sh, sh, Annie," Gladys whispered, stroking Annette's wild hair soothingly. "I won't let him hurt you. Whatever he did, I’ll keep you from it; I _swear_ I won't let him hurt you."

“I’m sorry,” Annette bawled, burying her face deeper into Gladys’ shoulder. “I’m sorry for crying, and I’m sorry for worrying you, and I— ”

“Sh,” Gladys hushed her, rubbing her back. “It’s okay, Annie. I’m here, alright? I’m right here. You don’t have to be sorry for anything. You’re okay, and that’s all that matters. Sh...”

And under the shadow of the bright moon, they stood alone, together, united by the very thing that tore them apart.

**Author's Note:**

> As an FYI, Phineas is Gladys' husband's name! He is a quiet schoolteacher and he worries very much about Gladys.  
> Kudos and comments are appreciated, and (as always) I hope you enjoyed the story!


End file.
